


Stay Right Here

by Annide



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [16]
Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s01e11 Alone Time, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide
Summary: After being kidnapped, Malcolm ends up at New Amsterdam to get treated for his injuries.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Iggy Frome
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667122
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Stay Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo: Thwarted Escape
> 
> This is more of a Prodigal Son focused story. Iggy is the only major character from New Amsterdam, with a brief appearance by Lauren. If you haven't seen New Amsterdam, it shouldn't be a problem.

It was early, Iggy had barely made it to the hospital. You could see the sky slowly starting to brighten outside. He was waiting on the outskirts of the waiting room, staring at his new patient’s family, trying to maybe get a sense of them, anything that could help him understand the man he hadn’t talked to yet, Malcolm Bright as he’d read on the file. Lauren had just brought him on to the case and now he was the one who had to announce to these people that they would be keeping their son for a little while, both because he had a serious stab wound and his hand needed more work, and because the kind of trauma he’d just suffered required a psych evaluation. He was waiting because Malcolm Bright had a sister and Lauren was almost done fixing her up. Iggy thought it’d be easier for them to swallow the news about Malcolm after learning their daughter would be released later that day.

“Why are we here?” The woman, likely Malcolm Bright’s mother, said.

“Because your children were injured and needed to be checked out.”

“No, I mean, why are we here in this particular hospital.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a public hospital, Gil. We’re rich, we don’t do public. My children deserve better than that.”

A rich family. Iggy wouldn’t be surprised if Malcolm Bright got himself transferred as soon as he woke up. It sounded like their family had high standards and, while he was very proud of their hospital, it probably wasn’t what they were used to. He knew he personally would want the best possible care for his own children. Of course, in his case it meant bringing them to New Amsterdam where he knew the staff and who was the best at their job.

“Jessica, I’ve watched you give Malcolm the most expensive care in the most prestigious hospitals and clinics in New York growing up. It didn’t solve his night terror issues, or stop him from trying to put an end to all of it. How about we try something new and different? I’ve heard great things about New Amsterdam.”

“You’re actually suggesting we leave him in this place?”

“He’s hurt and he’s been through a lot. He needs care. And you will never convince him to let himself be transferred. We both know he’ll try to get himself discharged as soon as the sedatives they gave him wear off.”

“Which should be soon, he’s built quite the resistance.” She saw Lauren walk in with another woman, probably the daughter, and softened. “Oh, Ainsley, are you alright?”

“She is.” Lauren said. “I’m Dr Bloom. Your daughter will be just fine. I’d prefer if she stayed a few more hours for observation, but she refused the offer.”

“How many times have I told you not to follow your brother’s example?”

“I’m fine, mom. Did you hear anything about Malcolm?”

“Not yet. Last I heard he was in surgery to fix that stab wound. Dr Bloom, do you know anything?”

“Your son’s case was transferred out of the ED. I’ll let Dr Frome, our head of psychiatry, talk to you about him.”

Lauren excused herself and went back to her ED. Iggy walked to them and explained he wanted to keep Malcolm under observation for a few days to assess his trauma. He wouldn’t be transferred to psych just yet, because he had serious injuries that, while not endangering his life, still required care. Iggy was starting to have a feeling Malcolm Bright was the kind of person who would exhaust himself too much and open his stitches. His hand also required surgery, which was scheduled for later that day.

“Another surgery? I can’t let my son have surgery in a place like this again.”

“Not to be rude, but your son is an adult. That decision falls to him and if he wants to shorten his time in the hospital, getting himself transferred is about the last thing he should do. Besides, we have excellent surgeons here. Malcolm will be in great hands.”

“Mom, really, they were great, you don’t need to worry so much. Besides, you’re sounding a little snob right now.”

“Ainsley!”

“What? It’s true. Plus, you know Malcolm, the second he wakes up from surgery he’ll be trying to get himself discharged. You can try convincing him to go to one of your favourite overpriced care facilities once he’s out of here.”

“Ainsley’s right, Jess. Just let that nice doctor try to keep Malcolm here, if he can do that then he’s better than any of us or any doctor he’s ever met. And it could be good for him to spend time with a psychiatrist that’s not Dr Le Deux. Get another perspective, from someone who hasn’t been dealing with him for twenty years.”

“Did you say Dr Le Deux?” Iggy said. “She’s excellent, but she specialises in children. He’s one of her patients?”

“Yes. My son is stubborn and refuses to see anyone else. Dr Le Deux and all of us have been trying to get him to see someone more appropriate to his age for years, but he won’t. I assume you work with adults?”

“I work with people of all ages.”

“Well, I hope you like challenges, because he will certainly be one. Make sure to notify me when he leaves.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

They thanked him and left, after making him promise again that he’d do everything he could to help Malcolm. Iggy used the time he spent in the elevator to look over his new patient’s file. Apparently, the man had been in and out of therapy since the age of ten. He had been diagnosed with complex PTSD along with a generalised anxiety disorder, and he suffered from night terrors. All of which he was taking a multitude of medications to control. There was nothing in the file about the kind of trauma he’d experienced to cause this, only a mention of a previous suicide attempt in his teens. The details didn’t matter to Iggy at the moment. He liked that it wasn’t there, he liked the opportunity to start fresh with him, get him to tell him about it, so he could paint him a picture of it himself without Iggy having the bias of a preformed opinion on it. The only trauma he knew about was his recent kidnapping at the hands of a serial killer.

Iggy sat in Malcolm’s room, waiting for him to wake up. The sun had finally finished rising, brightening up the room completely, almost blindingly, when Malcolm started thrashing. He moved a lot more violently than he’d expected, going as far as running out of bed. When Iggy tried to stop him, they both fell to the ground. But he managed to wake him up and calm him down.

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm said, his voice hoarse with the remnants of sleep, and maybe some irritation caused by screams.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself further, did you?”

Malcolm looked down at his bandaged hand. It wasn’t yet in a cast as he needed to get surgery on it. His other hand started shaking and Iggy remembered something about a psychogenic tremor. He helped him back to his bed and settled back down on the chair at his bedside.

“Hi. I’m Dr Frome. But everyone calls me Iggy.”

“Iggy?”

“Short for Ignatius.”

“You’re not wearing a lab coat, so psych, I assume.”

Malcolm was pretty amped up on sedatives and pain killers, Iggy wasn’t even sure how he was even awake right now. But he could hear the drugs in his voice, it would affect the way he thought, maybe make him more open. He’d have to tread lightly, so as to not take advantage of Malcolm’s current state.

“With your history, you must have seen quite a lot of us.”

“Not as many as the people around me would’ve wanted.”

“The people around you, like your mom, your sister, and that man who was with them this morning, the one who rode in the ambulance with you. Who is that? A friend, a parent?”

Malcolm laughed. It was brief because the movement hurt. His hand shook some more. He put it on the stab wound on his abdomen, like he’d just remembered it was there. It seemed like the tremor might be triggered by the memories of what he’d just been through, but Iggy knew there was more to it than that, because it wasn’t new.

“A parent, no, I wish. My father is a psychopath. No, Gil is my boss. A friend too, I guess.”

Iggy made a note of the way he said that. ‘A friend too, I guess.’ He wanted to get back to that later. Maybe after the surgery, when they’d have more time to talk about why he felt unsure Gil was his friend, and when Malcolm might have a clearer mind. It sounded like he might have trouble believing he could share a friendship with someone and Iggy wanted to dig deeper into that. But now wasn’t the time.

“Why do you feel your father is a psychopath?”

“Oh, it’s not a feeling, it’s a fact. He literally is one. A predatory psychopath. He’s locked up at Claremont Psychiatric for being a serial killer.”

Of all of the things that could’ve caused the complex PTSD, this was one Iggy never would’ve thought of. He was a psychiatrist in New York, he’d heard quite a lot of unusual stories, but that was new. And somehow he felt excited. He was curious to learn more, curious to know how being raised by that kind of person could affect someone. It was a fascinating case. The son of a serial killer, who had just been kidnapped by another serial killer. It was a once in a career kind of case, in fact it was the kind of thing most doctors would never encounter, fortunately. Iggy couldn’t wait to dig deeper into it, and get his shot at helping Malcolm.

“Do you fear you might share any of his tendencies?”

“Everyone else does.”

“I didn’t ask about everyone else. In fact, I couldn’t care less what people outside this room think.”

“But they will care what you think. Probably won’t let me go back to work without your sign-off.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a consultant with the NYPD, I help them catch killers.”

“The son of a serial killer making a career out of catching people who commit murders. Interesting.”

“I couldn’t save my father’s victims. I didn’t figure him out fast enough. But I can save others.”

“Why do you feel it was your responsibility to save them? You were a kid, it was the police’s job to catch him.”

“But they didn’t. I’m the one who told them what he was. Detectives didn’t catch their serial killer and because of that I had to call the cops on my own father. He was a great dad, I loved him, and I thought he loved me. But I had to send him away myself, because they couldn’t do their job. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else.”

“You’re not just trying to save his victims, you’re trying to save yourself. Trying to make sure another kid doesn’t have to make the difficult choice you did.”

Malcolm’s tone was sad, and his hand shook more than it had since he’d first woken up. Iggy could tell he’d said more than he would have if he hadn’t been drugged up. The way Malcolm’s expression changed made it obvious he never admitted those things to himself, he’d never really thought about it that way before.

Iggy could see the years of suffering in Malcolm’s eyes and he wanted to find a way to make it at least a little better. He wanted to show him support, wanted him to believe that the people around him actually cared about him and wouldn’t give up on him. He wanted to make it clear to Malcolm that he could be completely himself around him, that he could be vulnerable and Iggy wouldn’t judge him. Because all Iggy wanted was to help, maybe take some of the load off of his shoulders so he wouldn’t have to be so tired.

Nurses came to take Malcolm to his second surgery and they had to cut the conversation short. As he made his way back upstairs to his own department and other patients, Iggy realised he related to Malcolm in some way. They’d only talked for a few minutes, but it was already clear to him that the both of them only thought they had worth as long as they were helping other people. They were nothing outside of that, at least as far as they were concerned. He felt like having that in common would be an advantage when trying to help him, because it gave him a better understanding of the man.

It was just past lunchtime the next day by the time Iggy went to visit Malcolm again. He’d been in surgery for hours and Iggy had a lot of other patients to treat in the meantime. He’d also promised Martin he wouldn’t get home too late. Enough time had passed that all sedatives were out of his system, Malcolm’s usual medications were all he was on now. The nurses told Iggy he wouldn’t eat and he’d barely slept at all, waking up so violently he had to be restrained. They could only get one of his wrists in restraints, but it still helped.

Now, Malcolm lied silently on his side, the exhaustion clear on his face. But after what he’d been through, it was no surprise. Iggy brought the chair near the bed and sat next to him, where Malcolm could see him without having to move. He’d gotten a lot of work done that morning, so he could really dedicate his afternoon to helping Malcolm.

“Hi. I heard your surgery went well. How do you feel today?”

Malcolm turned himself on his back to look at the ceiling. He didn’t feel like talking it seemed. That wasn’t new or unexpected, Iggy had dealt with plenty of that before. He brought his chair a little closer and smiled, even if Malcolm couldn’t see him.

“We don’t have to talk about what just happened, or what that man did to you. None of that. How about we just get to know each other for now?”

* * *

Malcolm wanted to be alone. Actually, he wanted to stop existing, maybe not permanently, maybe just for a little while, he wasn’t sure yet, but he certainly didn’t want company right now. So the fact they weren’t letting him have visitors yet worked out well for him. He could just lie there, just like he’d done down under the house. He could lie there and think about what Watkins had told him. Or at least he could until Dr Frome came back.

“Hi. I heard your surgery went well. How do you feel today?”

Malcolm turned on his back. He didn’t know what to say. He knew what he was supposed to say. The truth. But he wasn’t sure what that was at the moment. He couldn’t put words on his feelings right now, there was too much going on inside him. It was easier to ignore Dr Frome than to try and find a way to express the thoughts imposing themselves on him.

“We don’t have to talk about what just happened, or what that man did to you. None of that. How about we just get to know each other for now?”

Why couldn’t he just be left alone? It would be so much easier for everyone. After all, he wasn’t of any use to anyone right now, so what was the point? Malcolm didn’t feel like talking, and even if he did, Dr Frome wouldn’t be the one he’d want to have a conversation with. Martin Whitly was the only one who could help him get the answers he needed. He had to hear it from him, not just trust Watkins’ words. He needed to see Martin’s reaction when he asked him about wanting to kill him as a child. But his father was in solitary confinement and a visit was out of the question.

“Alright, I’ll start. I’m married and I have four children. What about you, tell me more about your family.”

“You already know everything. You’ve seen my mother, my sister, I told you about my father. Why don’t you go talk to people you can actually help? People who deserve it?”

“Because you need help and you deserve it too.”

“No, I don’t. I stabbed him. The other kids were right, everyone was right. I’m just as bad as my father.”

“Who did you stab?”

“John Watkins. On the camping trip we took when I was a kid.”

“Why do you think stabbing one man, years ago, make you as bad as your father who killed I don’t know how many people?”

“23. My father murdered 23 people before I figured it out.”

“Okay, that is a lot. But that’s not you. You never killed anyone. That man you stabbed obviously made it out alive since he was able to kidnap you.”

“My stabbing him contributed to his becoming a serial killer. I’m partly responsible for the 19 people he killed. I’m a monster. You should leave me alone.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not responsible for John Watkins’s actions, or your father’s. None of this is your fault. You’re not a monster.”

“My family almost got murdered because of me.”

Malcolm heard the break in his voice and he was glad he was still staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to see the pity in Dr Frome’s face. He didn’t want or deserve it. His mother had told him multiple times before that he was a survivor. But what good was that for? Wouldn’t it be better if he hadn’t survived? His father had wanted to kill him, to silence him. So maybe it was good that he lived long enough to get him arrested, to stop him from committing even more murders. After that though, what good had he done? Had he really helped people? Was it all worth all the pain and suffering?

“Again, not your fault. And they didn’t.”

“Watkins wanted to kill them to make me a killer, it was my fault.”

“That was his choice. And see, it didn’t work. You had the chance to kill him, it would’ve been self-defense, but you didn’t. Because you’re not a monster.”

“I’m an idiot who can’t listen and gets himself into trouble, hurting other people in the process.” Malcolm could feel his eyes sting with tears building. He didn’t want to cry. He knew it was stupid, he knew that psychiatrist probably saw people crying all the time and wouldn’t judge him, but he didn’t want to let himself be this vulnerable. Dr Frome had more important patients and Malcolm couldn’t give him a reason to stay with him any longer. “Gil told me a million times to call for backup, but I went after Watkins myself, got kidnapped, almost got my family killed, and now I’m stuck in the hospital and people will die because I can’t go out there and do my job.”

“Look, I know it’s hard, believe me I’m very familiar with the voice telling you the opposite, but your worth isn’t defined by your ability to help people. You are more than that. We are more than that. Not being able to help someone, for any reason, doesn’t make us bad people. Your family will still love you.”

“I don’t understand why any of them even want me in their lives. Why anyone would.”

“We all struggle with that feeling sometimes. You know what helped me with that? Having my husband list all the things he thought were good about me. You could ask the people around you why they care about you, why they like having you in their life.”

A page forced Dr Frome to leave, but he promised to come back as soon as he could. Malcolm assured him it wasn’t necessary, he was fine. He felt like he was spiraling a little. He couldn’t stop thinking about how his father wanted to kill him. He needed to ask him about it, or a distraction. He had to feel useful and worth something. Because no matter what Dr Frome said, he still couldn’t believe he was worth anything sitting here and doing nothing. Plus, his stab wound was all stitched up and his hand was in a cast, there was no reason for him to stay here like a helpless child.

He called for the nurse to try and get himself discharged. She told him Dr Frome was in charge of his case and would have to sign off on it. He tried to convince her to get him any doctor that could get him a discharge against medical advice, but she wouldn’t. He had to wait for Dr Frome. Who would never agree with him leaving after their last conversation. Being honest was a mistake, now Dr Frome knew he wasn’t okay and he didn’t want to deal with that, or argue with him. So he settled on escaping. He’d managed to escape shackles less than two days earlier, leaving a crowded hospital unnoticed would be nothing.

Holding himself in a standing position was more painful than he’d thought. It pulled on muscles in his abdomen, so did walking, and the fact it accelerated his breathing certainly didn’t help. But it was fine, he could do it. He found a supply closet with extra scrubs. It would be much more subtle for him to be walking around dressed like a doctor than it was with a patient gown that didn’t fully close in the back. Changing was another challenge. He worried about pulling open his stitches as he put on the pants, but fortunately he didn’t. It was also pretty lucky scrubs didn’t have buttons, because his left hand was useless in that cast.

New Amsterdam was gigantic. It was its own village, and finding your way inside it felt similar to going through a maze. Malcolm had no idea how any of those people managed it. It took him forever to find the lobby. He was sweating profusely by then, exhausted from the effort, and the pain, but he’d made it. When he seriously considered swinging by his mother’s house for pain pills, he knew he was starting to lose it, but he wasn’t giving up. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible, to catch killers and save people. So his existence meant something.

“You know, when I heard you were rich, I thought you’d get yourself transferred. You know I work with a lot of teenagers, right? You’re not the first patient who tried to sneak out on me.”

Iggy stood from a nearby bench and caught up with him with no effort whatsoever. Malcolm couldn’t walk very fast, the pain coming from his stab wound was unbearable.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“Well, the nurse called me about your request to be discharged, so when I went back to your room and saw it empty I had a pretty good guess that you decided to leave on your own. I’ve actually been sitting here a while. This hospital is enormous, there was no way looking for you would get me anywhere. So I thought I’d wait for you here.”

“What if I’d gone through another exit?”

“This is the main exit, it’s the easiest to find when you’re not familiar with the place.” Iggy took Malcolm’s arm to put over his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around him so he could support some of his weight. “I also informed people at every other exit.”

Malcolm sighed. He couldn’t believe his plan had failed. And it was so close too.

“We were waiting until you’d be stable enough to transfer you up to psych, but if you could make it down here on your own, I guess that means you’re ready.”

“Please,” Malcolm pleaded as Iggy helped him sit down into a wheelchair, “I need to be out there, where I can help people.”

“Malcolm, you’re no good to anyone like this. You look like you were about to pass out. You need to help yourself before you can help anyone else.”

“I don’t matter. I am not important. The victims I could save are.”

“I disagree.” Iggy pressed the call button of the elevator. “You are important. If you keep brushing off your own trauma, eventually you will break.”

“Would you believe you’re not the first psychiatrist who warned me about a psychotic break recently?”

“I would, actually. Dr Le Deux is great at what she does.” The elevator doors opened and Iggy pushed the wheelchair inside.

“So, how long until I can convince you to discharge me? I’ll keep seeing her every week.”

“Nice try. Let’s make a deal. You’ll stay here for two weeks, until your stitches are ready to be taken out, and you’ll do everything I say, then I’ll agree to discharge you and transfer you to out-patient care.”

“Two weeks? No, that’s way too long. How about one?”

“You lost your chance to negotiate when you tried to escape. I’ve got the upper hand here. Or would you prefer I call your mother to tell her about this. She seemed very concerned the other day, made me promise to call her when you left.”

“My mother would never leave my side if you told her I tried to leave. She’d probably even hire someone to force rest on me.”

“Yeah, that’s the impression she gave me. So you can either stay here on your own or I can call her and let her take over your care.”

Malcolm had no choice but to comply. As much as he needed to be out there, he couldn’t have his mother come harass him about his recovery. Gil probably wouldn’t let him work anyway. So he let Iggy bring him to the adult psych wing. He spent the following week doing all kinds of therapy. Individual and group therapy with Iggy, art therapy, music therapy, zootherapy, he did it all. His drawings were not bad, but with only one hand, he didn’t have much success with sculpting. The animals didn’t make him feel better, if anything they made him miss Sunshine.

After a week of doing nothing other than resting and working on himself, he felt worthless. He wasn’t any good to anybody, he couldn’t even help himself. He considered trying to escape again, but he knew Iggy kept an eye on him, even though he was very busy with the teenagers most of the time. Malcolm felt restless and unsettled. His mind was going in all directions. It kept trying to go back to what Watkins had said about his father and the camping trip, but he pushed those thoughts away. He wasn’t ready to face them yet. He hadn’t even said anything to Iggy about it. What he needed was a case, something to concentrate on, something to make him feel useful.

He texted Dani, practically begging her to let him help on whatever they were working on. She wouldn’t share anything and insisted he needed to rest and get better. He called his mother and convinced her to make a generous donation to New Amsterdam. After all, they were the first hospital who managed to keep him more than a few hours, and the doctors here really seemed to care about helping people. Then he called Ainsley. She walked into his room within the hour, a bright smile plastered on her face. She sat on his bed and hugged him. He smiled too. He’d missed her.

“So, did you find a way to get me out of here?”

“You could at least say hello first.”

“Hi, Ains. I’m happy to see you. Please tell me you’re here to take me home.”

“Look, I don’t know how your doctors managed to stop you from leaving AMA, but it’s a good thing. You should be taking some time off to get the care you need.”

“If you won’t help me, why are you here?”

“You’re my big bro, I missed you. And I thought you might be lonely.”

“I am. How’s Sunshine?”

“She’s great, but I think she misses you.”

Even a visit from his sister didn’t soothe him. He couldn’t think of a purpose for his existence if he wasn’t out there stopping murderers from hurting people. Years of therapy had taught him that these weren’t healthy thoughts, but he couldn’t get rid of them. He couldn’t think of anything good about him outside of his ability to help people, to save them. Then he remembered what Iggy told him, about asking others. He looked down and took Ainsley’s hand in his.

“Ains, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, what’s wrong? You look sad.”

“Why do you care about me?”

“What? You’re my brother, I love you.”

“Yes, but why? Like what is good about me that makes you want me in your life other than the fact we share blood?”

“Oh, Mal.” Ainsley scooted closer and put her arm around his shoulder. “You’ve always been there for me. No matter what happened, you were always there to tell me everything would be okay. You protected me. And you are so strong, Mal. You never gave up. Things were rough and kids were so mean to you, but you got through it. When I wanted to quit school because some kids were being mean to me, you held my hand and came with me, and you made sure they knew you were looking out for me. You inspire me so much.”

“You’re the inspiring one. Always smiling and pushing through things, like nothing affects you. I wish I were more like you.”

“And I like you.”

Malcolm let his head rest on Ainsley’s shoulder, basking in the comfort of her presence. Maybe staying here wasn’t all that bad. He still couldn’t wait to get back to work, but until then he could count on his sister to keep him distracted. He was sure she wouldn’t stay that nice and sweet for long and would be teasing him in no time, but all that mattered was that she was here and she cared about him. And that made him want to get better.


End file.
